


The Secret of the Weird White Wedding

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Don't Quit Your Day Job, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Feelings Realization, Hidden Talents, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Out of Character, Rejection, Secrets, Unrequited Crush, Wedding Planning, Weddings, What a bitch!, daytime drama, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: When Jupiter is asked to be Pete Crenshaw's best man, he brings Trixie along for the weekend. But when Trixie encounters the cast of a daytime drama filming on the grounds and a strangely familiar event-planner, she's soon caught up in The Secret of the Weird White Wedding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> I really didn't expect this to top 12K words, but it kept growing and growing and growing.... Maybe it's not *quite* as long as one of the books, but it felt like it. (Although it *does* cover a multitude of prompts.)

There’s no such thing as an official lunchtime for workers at Jones Salvage Yard, but Trixie Belden has learned that Mathilda Jones is addicted to _Fame and Fortune_ \--so between 1-2:00 pm is usually a safe time to sneak out to her car and grab a sandwich.

“Hey, Trixie, I need a favor.”

Trixie looks up from her PB & J. Jupiter is standing beside her VW Bug. He has a white square of card-stock in one hand, and a notch between his dark eyebrows.

“Sure,” Trixie agrees, expecting a request for her to help move something, maybe run an errand or work more hours. Although, can’t it wait until after lunch? If she finishes her sandwich in a timely manner, she can pop in to visit with Aunt Mathilda and see what’s happening on the daytime drama, which she’s fascinated by in spite of herself.

“I have to go to a wedding, and I need someone to come with me.”

“Oh.” To give herself a moment to adjust to the unexpectedness of his answer, Trixie asks, “Who’s getting married?”

“My old pal, Pete Crenshaw. I’ve told you about him, right?”

“Second Investigator,” Trixie replies promptly. “More brawn than brains.”

“I _never_ said that!…did I?”

“How about, ‘If the Cowardly Lion was on the track team…’?”

“Okay, that I may have said…you’re not going to repeat it, are you?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Two weeks from this Saturday, up in Santa Barbara. I thought we’d drive up on Friday and return on Sunday. Of course, I’ll pay all expenses, I don’t want to inconvenience you--”

“Is it a big fancy wedding?” Trixie is already cataloging her wardrobe, wondering what she has that’s appropriate. 

“You tell me.” He hands her the invitation, and she studies it for a moment. “I know I’ll need to get my good suit dry-cleaned--I’m going to be the best man--but I have no idea what that means in terms of women’s wear.”

It’s an afternoon wedding, which allows some latitude, but she really doesn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. Although she isn’t as au courant on etiquette as her friend Honey Wheeler would be, Trixie has picked up a few things from her mom, who’s shown her various invitations received over the years. She runs her fingers lightly over the lettering and studies the stiff card it’s printed on. 

“It’s the right formal wording,” she comments, “but this was printed by a regular inkjet printer on ordinary business card stock, I’d swear to it.”

“So _not_ too fancy?”

“I don’t know…” Trixie wrinkles her nose thoughtfully. “It might just be cutting corners so they’ll have more money for the cake, or something. I’ll Google the where it’s being held.”

“But you’ll go?” Jupe asks hopefully.

“I don’t see why not. I’ve never been to Santa Barbara. It sounds pretty.”

Trixie is a little less sanguine after Googling the hotel where the wedding is being held. She’s been waiting for the right occasion to wear a certain blue and white dress, and this certainly is in a dressy venue…can she manage to put her hair up so it doesn’t look like a birds’ nest? That’s going to be the tricky part!

The drive up to Santa Barbara offers magnificent vistas--Trixie is enthralled. Jupiter, a native Californian, has a wealth of historical trivia to regale her with, and the trip seems much shorter than she anticipated.

Inside the lobby of the magnificent hotel, Jupiter goes ahead to the front desk, while Trixie pauses for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness of the space after the sunlit highway. 

“There you are, Emily!” says a woman’s voice beside her, and a hand catches her wrist. “I’ve been waiting and waiting--I’m so happy for you!”

Startled, she looks to her left, where an elderly woman in a wheelchair smiles up at her. 

Very old, Trixie guesses from the myriad lines on her face, but she still has bone structure that hints at earlier beauty. Her eyes are clouded with cataracts, which probably accounts for her mistaken identification of Trixie as someone she knows. Beside her is a cylinder tucked into the chair with a discreet mask for her to use as needed. Poor lady….

“Thank you,” Trixie says cautiously. She doesn’t want to upset the woman, but she doesn’t want to mislead her, either.

Just then, a young woman who’s about her age joins them. She’s taller than Trixie--isn’t everyone?--and has red-gold hair rippling down past her shoulders. The older woman was probably the prototype for this one, because she’s gorgeous.

“Oh, Nana, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaims, gently hugging the woman in the wheelchair. “I’m so glad you could be here!”

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything, dear child!”

Jupiter is crossing the lobby toward her, his expression strained. Trixie leaves the reunion going on between the two women and hurries to meet him.

“They screwed up our reservations,” he announces quietly. “Apparently there’s a film crew staying here, so there are no free rooms at all. Just our reservation for one, and it’s a single.” He grimaces. “I could probably get an air mattress or maybe a roll-away--”

“Don’t be silly,” Trixie says staunchly. “We’re both grown-ups. Why can’t we just share the bed that’s there?”

He gives her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for being such a good sport. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Then he’s striding back toward the front desk before she has a chance to say it isn’t exactly a hardship. 

The pretty girl pushes the wheelchair past Trixie, saying, “You’ll like him, Nana. He’s a really sweet guy--”

To Trixie’s delight, their third floor room has a balcony with a view of the pool and gardens behind the hotel. Beyond that is a row of palm trees zigzagging the length of the property, and the Pacific beckons just beyond that.

“I can hear the waves from here!” She gives an excited clap of her hands, and Jupe smiles. 

“If you can hear them over the sound of me snoring.” he teases. “I’m going to go hunt down Pete and find out when and where I need to be. You’re okay?”

“Sure. I might go for a swim in the pool--or a walk on the beach. Maybe both!”

Trixie knows she’s not a California girl. She doesn’t have the obligatory cascades of blonde hair, or legs for days. Her swimsuit, though two-piece, is modest as swimwear goes. Being different is okay; she may not have figured out exactly where her place in the world is, but at the moment, she feels like she’s in the right place at the right time. 

When she gets downstairs, the pool looks inviting, but she notices something is going on near the beach--there’s a helicopter going back and forth, and there’s some commotion….

The pool isn’t going anywhere. Trixie trots across the lush lawn toward the swath of palm trees beyond. There are people there, but not sunbathers as she’d first thought. They’re clustered around two men who are rolling around fighting on the sand. They seem to be evenly matched, but Trixie gasps as one of the men pulls out a wicked looking knife!

She opens her mouth to shout, hoping that someone closer can intervene, when someone grabs her arm roughly. “Hush!” says the man in a harsh whisper. “They’re filming--you’ll ruin the scene if you make a sound!”

Trixie stops in her tracks and the man who caught her arm breathes an obvious sigh of relief. He has unruly red-brown hair. He ignores the blood-curdling yells coming from the mock-combatants, more intent of watching her for fear she’ll cause a disturbance. She puts a finger to her lips with a penitent look, which makes him smile.

Now that she isn’t focused on the fight scene--they’re still rolling around, the knife blade flashing in the sunlight--Trixie registers that there are cameras and other equipment being operated by the onlookers. Her companion has on an earpiece, she notices, and he’s nodding along to whatever he hears on the other end.

Before this, she’s only seen studio taping when the Hubbell twins were in New York. She’s far enough back from this production that she can’t see much.

“What are they filming?” she whispers to her new acquaintance.

“Shush. Wait--they’ll be through soon.”

Trixie’s brief career in film school had only whetted her appetite for movies. Class discussions had focused more on symbolism in movies and less about how they were made. Hadn’t Jupe said that there was a film being made here? It’ll be great if she can watch that happening while he’s busy with rehearsals and whatever else a best man is supposed to do.

“Okay,” her chaperone says. “They’ll be setting up the next take, so we can talk for a couple minutes. This section of beach was supposed to be roped off against looky-lous, but the tape showed up too clearly in the background.”

“Golly, I’m sorry,” Trixie tells him. “I didn’t see the cameras, just that knife--I thought they were fighting for real!”

He chuckles. “That’s a great compliment!” He looks to be in his early 30’s, not movie-star handsome as so many are in L.A., she’s noticed, but with a gleam in his eye that she associates with intelligence, like Jupe or Mart. He has on a lilac-colored polo shirt that clashes sublimely with his auburn hair.

“What movie is it?”

“Not a movie--a daytime drama. Ever heard of _Fame and Fortune_?” 

“Oh gosh, yes--my aunt is hooked on it. And I watch it too, sometimes,” she admits. She’s happy to claim Aunt Mathilda as a relative; she likes her much better than her own Aunt Alicia. “Wait, is that Colton and Bridge fighting? Did they find out Marigale has been playing them both?” 

Trixie’s eyes are wide, and the man smiles. “Not quite,” he says, his eyes dancing. “What we’re filming now won’t air for about two weeks, and I can’t tell you why they’re fighting. I’m Kirby Franklin, by the way--I’m one of the writers on the show.” 

“Trixie Belden--I’m a film student.” She feels a slight qualm, since she isn’t in school, and wonders if she ever will be again…but if there’s once thing Jupiter has taught her, it’s that being in a classroom isn’t a prerequisite for learning about subjects you love. “Please, can I watch you shoot? I promise I’ll be quiet as a mouse--you won’t even know I’m here. I’m really fascinated!”

Kirby’s grin widens. “Aren’t you cute? I don’t suppose it would hurt anything, as long as you do what you’re told and don’t spill the beans to your aunt about what’s going to happen.“

“Not a word!” Trixie promises. “My boyfriend is here as his best friend’s best man, so I’m kind of at loose ends while he’s doing all that stuff.”

“Right, the wedding. Speaking of weddings…hey, Angie!” Kirby beckons to a dark-haired woman. With a thrill, Trixie recognizes her as Marigale, _Fame and Fortune_ ’s premiere vixen.

Today, she’s garbed even more casually than Trixie, in white jean shorts and a red halter top. Up close, she’s every bit as beautiful as she appears onscreen…she probably has a teeny bit of make-up on, Trixie decides, but the delicate contours of her face could have modeled for a cameo. All that sleek, dark hair that falls to her waist reminds her of her longtime friend Diana Lynch, but Angie has green eyes and a wide smile for Kirby that widens to include Trixie.

“Angie, baby, have you had the final fitting on your dress yet? Margo was looking for you a little while ago. Hey, here’s a great idea, take Trixie here with you? She’s a film student, looking for a behind the scenes take on what we do.”

Trixie recognizes she’s being gotten rid of, but the chance to hang out with a real-life TV star is tempting enough that she politely adds, “If you don’t mind?”

“No prob--come on, may as well get it over with,” the actress shrugs. “They’re worried I’m going to get too much sun,” she explains to Trixie as they set off down the outer edge of the palms toward one side of the hotel. “And I see their point, it would be awful if I got burned and was peeling when I had to wear one of those strapless things they keep dressing me in! But I was really looking forward to some time at the beach, y’know?”

“Wow, that’s disappointing,” Trixie agrees. “Maybe you can go down later in the afternoon for the sunset. I’ve been out here for months, and I’m still not tired of seeing the sun set over the ocean.”

“Yeah? Out here from where?” Marigale--or Angie--is friendly, and Trixie feels comfortable with her.

“New York. Westchester County.”

“No kidding? I’m from Staten Island, myself. Started out auditioning for a show that films in New York, one of the show runners from here happened to be visiting their set and hired me on the spot, and here I am. I’ve been incredibly lucky.” Angie is only a few years older than she is, Trixie realizes, but she has such poise that she seems older.

There are several big trailers parked at one end of the hotel lot, as far from the lobby as it’s possible to be. Angie leads Trixie to one of them, which proves to be loaded with racks upon racks of clothes, shelves full of boxes and dozens of wigs on stands.

A plump older woman, her silver hair cut in a simple bob, pops out from behind a rack of dresses. “There you are, missy! It’s about time, that dress isn’t going to fit itself.” With that, she brings out what’s obviously a wedding gown. 

Angie peels off her halter before Trixie even has a chance to turn around. The wardrobe mistress starts lacing her into a corset. Trixie watches the process with interest--she’s never seen anyone actually putting on a corset before, except in _Gone With the Wind_. It looks uncomfortable, she decides, but seeing the gown on, she has to admit, it’s worth it. 

The dress is amazing; Trixie has never been a huge fan of big formal-wear, especially wedding dresses, but she has to admit, Angie looks gorgeous to the tenth power in this one. The ivory satin is encrusted with an intricate pattern of beadwork, whirling arcs that sweep around her curves and accentuate her figure to perfection.

“Who are you marrying?” Trixie can’t help but ask.

Angie laughs. “In the show, I’m marrying Colton. In real life, I’m seeing one of the stunt guys.” 

“Colton?” Trixie gasps. “But I thought Marigale was in love with Jesse and just playing off Colton against Nathan to cause trouble with the Parminters and the Pike deal!”

This time both women laugh. “That’s the thing about a show like this,” Margo shakes her head. ”Things change, writers have crazy ideas--anyway, tomorrow we shoot the wedding of the year, and this dress is too long. Can you sew?”

“Gleeps, no!” Trixie responds with feeling.

Margo puts Trixie to work holding her pincushion while she stalks around Angie, who’s standing on a box allowing the hem of her gown to be adjusted.

One of the fighters from the beach enters the trailer. Trixie blinks, because he _isn’t_ really Colton. He must be the stuntman Angie mentioned, because he leans in close for a quick kiss and says, “Babe, you look amazing, but don’t expect me to pop the question!”

Angie hooks her fingers in the neckline of his shirt and pulls him close for another kiss. “Of course not--bigamy is illegal!” They both chuckle.

Trixie tries to remember Colton’s storyline…didn’t Aunt Mathilda mention his first wife had died in a bridge collapse, or was that Nathan’s backstory? She’s a relative newcomer to the drama, but Aunt Mathilda can remember plots that happened twenty years or more ago. More than once, she’s filled a commercial break informing Trixie of events that happened a generation ago to explain why there’s bad blood between two characters now.

“Kelly wants you outside for receiving line shots,” Angie’s beau tells her. “Fully dressed.”

“Are you almost done?” Angie asks the wardrobe mistress.

“Two minutes,” Margo grunts, pinning another section. “You don’t want to look like it’s off the rack from a sample sale, do you?”

“You would never!” The starlet tosses her head. “Hey, Trixie, you should come out for this. Kirby can probably get you into the scene as an extra. Would that be cool?”

“That would be amazing!” Trixie breathes. “I don’t really have to act, right? Just pretend to talk to someone or something like that?”

“Pretty much. It’s not your big break,” she cautions. “Odds are your own mother couldn’t recognize you in the background.”

“I don’t care--it would be fun just to be there. Do I have time to change into something else?”

“Well, you can’t show up in a swimsuit, for crying out loud!” Margo glances over at her. “Fifteen minutes or less!”

Trixie doesn’t bother to point out that she’d just said two minutes for the dress to be ready. She scoots into the hotel and upstairs to change into one of her favorite dresses. She doesn’t want to risk anything happening to her good dress for tomorrow, so she digs out the one with big, bright yellow poppies on a black and white background. 

Changing her clothes is the easy part. Getting her hair to look good takes a little longer, but the stylist Aunt Mathilda hooked her up with has taught Trixie how to work with her curls.

She returns to the wardrobe trailer just as Margo says, “That should do it.”

“Oh, Angie! You look amazing!” Trixie marvels. 

“It’s not bad.” Angie studies her reflection. “As long as my boobs don’t fall out.”

“They won’t,” Margo assures her. “No wardrobe malfunctions on my watch. Hello,” she says to Trixie. “You look cute. Not everyone can pull off the baby-doll look, but it’s perfect on you and that print is great. You may actually be able to spot yourself in the background. But it needs a little something…” 

She rummages in a bin. What she comes up with is a curved comb with big glass gems decorating it. Carefully, she slides it back against Trixie’s attempt at an up-do.

Margo’s right, Trixie decides after a quick peek in the mirror. It gives the cascade of curls more emphasis. The black, white and clear faceted stones are set in white enameled metal flowers, and t’s definitely the something that her outfit needed. Angie looks like a queen, but Trixie feels confident that she could pass as a duchess, at least.

“Thank you, Margo. I’ll take super good care of it.”

The older woman grins. “On the house. Wear it in good health!”

“Let’s go, kiddo,” Angie says. “Before Kirby and the camera boys start foaming at the mouth.” She’s donned a tiara that looks like something a Vegas chorus girl would reject as gaudy. On her, with the dress, it’s perfect.

There’s an area set up with delicate bamboo-looking chairs in what’s obviously the hotel’s rose garden. Cascades of crimson bloom around an elaborate wrought-iron archway…It’s really pretty, Trixie thinks wistfully. 

“Hey you,” Kirby hails her. “You clean up good. So, what we’re getting ready to do now is, Marigale and Colton are going to be doing their receiving line. Everybody else is mixing and mingling in the background. See that yellow tape on the ground? Stay at least that far back--and if you talk to anyone, do it very, very softly. Can’t have you drowning out the action! Got it?”

“It isn’t just a rehearsal?”

“The light is fantastic, so our director is going to see if we can get it in the can today. Then all we have to do tomorrow is the actual ceremony. Break a leg, kid!”

“Thanks, Kirby--I’m so excited!”

“Great. Just be excited quietly.”

Trixie mingles with the other extras among the rows of chairs and along the aisles of the garden. She studies the soaring arch of intricate ironwork and the climbing roses that are entwined with it. Who needs an extravagant bouquet with so much real foliage on display? She pulls out her phone and takes a picture of it. Moms has a couple of rose bushes on the terrace at home; she’ll love to see this….

“You’re not supposed to be taking pictures,” a man rebukes her. “Turn that phone off immediately or leave.”

Trixie starts guiltily. “I’m sorry!” she stammers. “I just wanted a picture of the roses to show my mom.”

“Show me.”

She’s got three pictures of the roses and the trellis, no people in any of the shots, and the image before those is one she’d taken during a rest stop during their drive up (Jupiter in profile, looking toward the Pacific horizon). 

“Oh my gosh, you’re Wilton Parminter!” she gasps, recognizing the actor who plays Nathan’s dad. “My aunt is crazy about you!”

“Your aunt has good taste,” he acknowledges, returning her phone. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious? I’ve never been an extra before.”

She can see why Aunt Mathilda has a ‘thing’ for him --he looks a bit like Uncle Titus, a burly guy with a square jaw and dark hair starting to silver. His brown eyes have crinkles at the corners, and his smile gives Trixie a frisson of attraction.

He’s an actor, she reminds herself. And old enough to be her father. ‘Parminter’ plucks a folder from one of the chairs as they pass by. “I take it you didn’t get one of these?” She shakes her head, and he shows her that what looks like a typical program has a guideline for extras, including stern instructions about taking pictures, she’s chagrined to see.

“Kirby said it would be okay for me to be here,” Trixie mumbles. “He just said I couldn’t cross that tape line and to keep my voice down.”

“Let’s see if we can make it worthwhile. We’re going to stroll along here--we should appear in the distance behind the principals they’re filming. Walk on my right side, so you won’t be obscured. My compliments on that dress--that pattern is vivid enough to show up well.” He has a deep, rumbling sort of voice; it reminds her of Jupiter’s.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she admits, pausing to look up at him. 

Parminter smiles and nods. “Good, I’m sure it looks as if we’re having a perfectly normal conversation. We’re not ogling the cameras, which is a mistake a lot of first timers make, although with this scene being set up the way it is, we could just as easily be admiring the bride. And we’re walking….”

They turn down the aisle nearest where photography going on. “If this was a real wedding,” Parminter coaches, “what would you be saying now?”

Trixie sneaks a look in Angie’s direction. “What a beautiful bride she is!” she sighs. “She’s pretty to begin with, but that dress is wonderful.”

“I agree, she does looks especially lovely today.”

“I hope they’ll be happy together.” For the moment, Trixie has forgotten that this isn’t real; Angie has been nice to her, and she hopes the blushing bride will have a fairy-tale ending.

“Wonderful,” Parmenter remarks a few strides later. “There’s no guarantee they’ll use that footage, of course, but if they do, we’ll be in the thick of it, and you’ll come across in character as the typical wedding guest.”

“You’ve been very kind. My aunt will be so jealous!” 

Parminter takes the folder from her and produces a pen. “What’s your aunt’s name?” She spells it, and he signs the program ‘To Mathilda, With my very warmest wishes, Don Dix (Wilton J. Parminter III)’, handing it back with a flourish.

“Is that okay?” Trixie asks. “I mean, signing an autograph in the middle of filming?”

“On the off-chance they caught it--I’m quite sure we’re out of frame--knowing Parminter, it would be perfectly in character for him to give his number to a pretty girl.”

Trixie fans herself with the signed program, sure she’s turning the color of a baked ham. “Thank you.”

“We’re losing the light!” someone bellows. “Hit your mark this time, Jennifer!”

“Oh boy…:” Parminter glances toward the receiving line. “We’ve been having issues with Jennifer Belgrade, who plays Lucy. Keep it under your tiara, but I don’t think she’s going to be around much longer. She keeps messing up shots, and her contract is about to expire.”

That’s juicy news. Trixie files it away, thinking of how many storylines that’s liable to impact. She and Parminter make one more pass behind the receiving line, until someone hollers, “That’s a wrap! First call tomorrow for the wedding scenes, sign in no later than seven. Same clothes you had on today. Thank you, and good night!”

When she checks her phone, there’s a text from Jupe: _Rehearsal dinner at 7 private dining room hotel restaurant. See you there!_

It’s a quarter of six?! Gleeps! Trixie hustles back upstairs, where she secures the signed program in her suitcase and hurries into the shower. In spite of her need to hurry, she can’t help but inhale the scent of the hotel toiletries blissfully…rosemary with a hint of something else…. 

The flower print dress again…she’s getting some mileage out of it. That’s the easy part! She’s getting better at putting her hair up, but boy, does she wish Bekah was here to do it for her. 

Not too much product, twist, twist--it isn’t quite a braid, but it keeps the hair out of her face, and the rest cascades softly almost to her shoulders. Her hair has never been this long in her life, Trixie muses, pinning it in place. When she’d arrived in search of Mart in October, she’d been overdue for a trim, and five-and-a-half months later, surprisingly, it’s less trouble at this length than when she was getting it trimmed back by Moms every three months or so.

Trixie is careful as she applies make-up. She doesn’t use it often, but her sandy lashes need some help, or they’re almost invisible. A sweep of brown mascara, a daub of rose lipstick, and she’s ready for the dinner with eighteen minutes to spare.

Of course, then she has to hoof it to the elevator, wait for the elevator, ride down to the lobby, find the restaurant and locate the private room, all of which eats up ten minutes. Still, she’s not late--that’s the important thing!

Jupiter is waiting for her, looking solemn in a dark shirt and the first tie she’s ever seen him wear. “You look lovely,” he greets her, bestowing a chaste forehead kiss. “I’m sorry you can’t be at the head table with me, but the wedding planner has the seating chart carved in stone.”

“La-di-dah,” Trixie says with a rueful sigh. “Some people are way too picky.”

“Ah, she’s a sorority sister of the bride,” Jupe says shrugging. “Not a real wedding planner. I’m pretty sure she’s never done anything this big before, and she’s kinda freaked out.”

When he leads her to her place--at a table far from the wedding party--Trixie is delighted to recognize Kirby and one of the actors from _Fame and Fortune_ among those seated.

“Trixie! Good to see you!” Kirby hails her. Jupiter shoots him a startled look.

She grins at him. “Go!” she says to Jupe in dulcet tones. “Go sit with the upper crustaceans! _I’m_ going to be where the fun is!”

The remainder of her table companions turn out to be Kirby and two of the other writers, the actor who plays Parker, and Scott from San Francisco, who’s a cousin of the groom. 

“We have to do something about Jennifer,” Parker growls truculently as they dig into their salads. “She was a mess today!”

“Like what?” asks Dani, another of the writers. She’s in her forties, crisp in a well-tailored pants suit. Something about her reminds Trixie of a more chic incarnation of Miss Trask.

“Kill her off!” Parker is nonchalant at the prospect.

“Says the man who doesn’t have to explain it to the viewers!” Jaime, the third writer waves his fork. 

“Well, we’ve been setting up the MPD storyline,” Kirby begins. “The blackouts--I suppose we could turn that into a brain tumor, or something.”

“Wait, you just killed Hannah off with a brain tumor last Christmas,” Trixie interrupts.

“Damn, she’s right, we did.”

“Okay, Trixie--tell us. What do you think we should do with Lucy?” Kirby looks at her over his glasses, challenging her to come up with a better idea.

“Patricia,” Trixie says before she thinks it through.

“Patricia’s dead," Jaime frowns at her.

“But there was no body! She was swept away when the bridge washed out, but what if she isn’t really dead?” Trixie misses the character, who’d been bubbly and so perfect for Parker. She looks at him to see how he reacts to the idea.

“What not?” Parker backs her up. “Kate left for that series that tanked--I bet she’d be thrilled to be asked back!”

“Where has she been all this time?” Dani wants to know.

“We know Lucy is unstable,” Trixie is warming to the idea. “She’s been jealous of Patricia ever since she lost control of Thrace Enterprises. What if Patricia was swept downriver and ended up at Lucy’s cabin? Lucy found her and she’s been keeping her captive--”

“Could be a ‘Misery’-type situation,” Jaime nods.

Kirby has produced a small notebook and is scribbling in it. “Go on, Trixie. Then what?”

“Lucy hasn’t been having blackouts--all those times she disappeared, she was going to the cabin where Patricia was….” Trixie bites her lip, then has an inspiration. “Patricia had a head injury during the accident. Not amnesia, she remembers who she is, but now she’s highly suggestible, so Lucy wants to use that to get Thrace back and destroy her, like maybe set her up for corporate espionage or something? But instead, it’s Lucy who gets killed and Patricia is a loose cannon.”

“Gold!” Dani breathes. 

Kirby secures his notes with a satisfied smile. “Trixie, you’ve got quite an imagination!”

“So they tell me,” is her wry response as she accepts a serving of what alleges to be prime rib.

Glancing toward the head table, she sees several people she recognizes in addition to Jupiter. There’s Emily, the beautiful girl with red-gold hair. The old woman in the wheelchair is to her right, and to her left is the stunt man who’d been kissing Angie. Jupe is on the other side of him, and Parminter is there as well. 

“You said you’re the groom’s cousin?” She turns to Scott, who hasn’t contributed anything to the conversation. “Is that him, next to that girl with reddish hair?”

“Yeah, that’s Pete.” He seems more interested in shoveling in broiled swordfish than chatting, but Trixie isn’t about to let that stop her.

“She’s awfully pretty--is she nice?”

“I haven’t seen Pete in years, and I haven’t even met her yet. Mother couldn’t come, but she insisted that I be here to represent the family.” He’s trying to cut off the conversation; Trixie tries another tack.

“Aren’t his folks here?”

“Nah, his mom is on the crew of a series that shoots in Atlanta, and his dad is making a film in Europe.”

“You’d think they would have set a date that was more convenient for everyone,” she muses aloud.

Scott looks at her for the first time. “Who _are_ you, exactly?” he inquires.

“I’m the best man’s plus one.”

“And they didn’t seat you at the head table? Whyever not?” So she wouldn’t be here pestering him is clearly what he means.

Trixie shrugs. “I heard that the so-called wedding planner is a friend of the bride--I guess she’s not up on proper etiquette for seating charts, or something.”

“Madeline? I’m surprised--she was very helpful when my room wasn’t ready on time.”

“Madeline?” Dani chimes in. “She’s lovely--the producers have been liaising with her about the wedding set--they’re going to use it after we wrap shooting tomorrow. It’s a cost-saving measure, since we’ve already negotiated the cost of set-up and tear down with the hotel. That way, all the happy couple pays for is tonight and the reception tomorrow.”

“Great idea,” Trixie comments absently. She’s watching the head table where Pete is leaning over saying something to Emily. She’s giggling, looking at him happily. Trixie remembers the comment Angie made in the wardrobe trailer about not marrying Pete because bigamy was illegal. So Angie knows about the wedding --it’s just poor Emily who doesn’t know that her soon-to-be husband has a girlfriend on the side.

Somebody should warn Emily, and as far as she knows, Trixie is the only one outside of the trio who knows or is bothered about the deception.

Her opportunity comes when Emily excuses herself, presumably to use the restroom. Trixie abandons her chocolate mousse and goes looking for the facilities. She’s so intent on catching up with the bride that she tries to dodge around the woman with the clipboard who steps into her path. The woman blocks her attempt, a maddening moment of do-si-do, then the woman says, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Trixie stops dead in her tracks, thoughts of Emily momentarily gone. “Honey?!” she gasps.

It’s been roughly two years since Trixie last saw her friend, and at the moment, she’s almost unrecognizable. The honey-brown hair that gave her her nickname is set in a chic up-do. She wears a perfectly tailored skirt-suit with what Trixie can only assume are genuine pearls. She looks polished, and much older than twenty. Just looking at her makes Trixie feel like a frump.

“Madeline,” her old friend contradicts her. “I don’t go by Honey any more. It’s too childish.”

“You certainly look all grown up,” Trixie says, trying to regain her equilibrium. Madeline? Honey is Madeline, the would-be wedding planner? She racks her brain for something to say, some common ground. “I saw Jim a few months ago, did he tell you?”

“He said you were working in some junkyard, and Mart is living on a falling-down farm in the middle of nowhere.” Her tone is contemptuous, and Trixie is stung.

“It’s a salvage yard,” she replies coolly, “and it’s very interesting. I enjoy working there. And where would you expect a farm to be, the middle of Central Park?”

Whatever response Madeline is about to make is halted as Emily hurries back down the hall. “I don’t think Nana is going to hold out much longer,” the bride-to-be says to her wedding planner. “She’ll probably go up to her room before the speeches are done.”

“Everything’s been alright?” Madeline wants to know, and Emily nods. She continues toward the private dining room, while Honey continues to place herself between Trixie and the bride as nimbly as a border collie. With Emily gone, Madeline relaxes almost imperceptibly.

“What are you really up to, Trixie?” she asks after Emily has disappeared back into the dining room. “Don’t lie to me, I saw the look on your face when you saw Emily. You’ve got some crazy idea in your head, and I won’t have you upsetting Emily at a time like this because your over-active imagination is working overtime!”

Trixie shakes her head. “It isn’t a ‘crazy idea’, Honey--her boyfriend, Pete--”

“Fiance. And my name is Madeline.”

“She can’t marry him--he’s two-timing her! Pete has a girlfriend, she’s in the cast of _Fame and Fortune_ , I saw the two of them all over each other earlier in the wardrobe trailer.” 

“What were you doing--” Honey checks herself. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll take care of it. _Do not go near Emily._ ”

Confused and hurt by her best friend’s dismissiveness, Trixie returns to her seat, where the rest of her chocolate mousse has been cleared away in her absence. She sits through the inevitable speeches--Jupiter’s is the funniest, she notes dully. The woman in the wheelchair is introduced as Mrs. McLaughlin, Emily’s great-grandmother--and she does, leave after she’s spoken. The dinner breaks up not long after that--Emily wants to make sure her great-grandmother is alright, and begs everyone’s pardon.

Back in their room, Jupe changes from the suit to casual clothes. 

“Pete and I are going to go take in a midnight movie,” he says awkwardly. “Just the two of us. It’s not exactly a bachelor party, but there’s an independent cinema in town showing ‘Mystery Men’ tonight. We used to love that movie--we liked to imagine what we’d do if Uncle Titus ever brought in a Herkheimer Battle Jitney.”

“Have fun!” Trixie manages a bright smile. She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him that his best friend is a rat who’s fooling around on his bride-to-be. “I’ve got to get up super early for more filming, but don’t worry, they’re using the filming set for the ceremony set, so I know exactly where it is.” _If there_ is _a ceremony_ , she silently adds. _If I were Emily, I’d call it off if I found out my fiance had another girlfriend. I don’t envy Honey that conversation, but she’s always been more tactful than me. Honey…Madeline…since when?_

That’s one question she _can_ answer. During the summer between eighth and ninth grade, Mrs. Wheeler had taken Honey on a mother-daughter trip to France. They’d been gone for two months--two very long, lonely months for Trixie--and when they returned, Honey was different. 

_A lot of things were different that year,_ Trixie reflects glumly. Brian and Jim were away at college, Dan was a senior, busy with his studies and his job as a part-time gamekeeper, Di kept busy with her brothers and sisters…and although she and Honey still rode together most days, Honey’s conversations were seasoned with references to the countryside of Provence, the Cote d’Azure and Paris. The time she used to spend with the Bob-Whites was now filled with French Club and she hung out with that crowd. The following summer, the Wheelers toured France again, and Honey spent her junior year abroad. She was still perfectly friendly with Trixie, but not the old closeness was gone.

After an uneasy night--she isn’t sure what time Jupe got it, but it was sometime after 3 a.m.--Trixie reports to the _Fame and Fortune_ set. She’s short on sleep…it’s one of those mornings when she feels as tenuously fragile as a light-bulb, as if the slightest impact will shatter her. She is beginning to hate the flowered dress.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” It’s Parminter, who points her in the direction of a tent with people milling beneath it. “You look like you need coffee.”

Trixie makes her way over there and gets the biggest cup they have, along with a couple donuts, since she surmises it’s likely to be the only food she sees for the next few hours, at least.

“I hear you’re a genius,” Parminter says, cradling a coffee cup in his hands and smiling at her. “Dani was telling me over breakfast that you wowed them last night with an absolutely brilliant strategy to get rid of Lucy.”

For a moment, Trixie can’t imagine what he’s talking about--dinner last night seems like it happened weeks ago--then she recalls the conversation with the writers about Lucy and Patricia, which was something she and Aunt Mathilda had speculated about while watching a recent episode. Genius? Brilliant? Her? No. Just her over-active imagination ist working overtime again.

Parminter seems to enjoy her company, or maybe he’s just trying to ensure continuity from yesterday. That’s okay. He’s entertaining to talk to. Today as they stroll back and forth, he regales her with stories of his days doing dinner theater, which she can’t help laughing at.

As soon as filming wraps, she checks with Jupe, who says the ceremony is finally set for three o’clock. 

Trixie’s heart sinks. She’s managed not to think about fickle Pete for the last few hours. The ceremony is on? Emily is going through with it?

Returning to her room, she changes from the dress she never wants to see again, into the blue and white toile that she’s been saving for a special occasion. This isn’t the occasion she’d imagined. She puts up her hair mechanically, sectioning, twisting, clipping just as Bekah has shown her. The clips, adorned with little dragonflies had delighted her when she’d first seen them. Now she can’t seem to take any pleasure in their sparkle.

Even Jupiter’s drop-jawed amazement at the sight of her doesn’t lift her spirits. She takes a seat in the back row on the groom’s side of the aisle. Scott, she notices, is alone in the first row. After spending hours and hours over the last two days filming here, the ceremony site feels like a set to her with its rows of dainty chairs and the wall of roses at the altar. Romantic? Maybe, under other circumstances….

Trixie’s stomach is churning. What if--what if Honey didn’t pass on Trixie’s warning to Emily? Would she do that? Could she possibly be so invested in seeing the wedding come off successfully that she would overlook the probability that the marriage was doomed? She doesn’t want to think that her friend, Honey Wheeler, the girl she’d shared so many adventures with, would perpetrate such a travesty. But she’d said, ‘My name is Madeline’, as if Honey never existed. Can she still be trusted?

The aisles fill with guests, and Mrs. McLaughlin is wheeled to a place of honor in the front row. The music starts playing. Jupiter escorts the maid of honor to the front of the site, followed by two bridesmaids and two groomsmen. The bridesmaids wear the same style and color dress as the maid of honor--if Trixie didn’t know Jupe was the best man, she wouldn’t have known her from the rest. That’s odd….

When the bride appears, the assemblage gasps. So does Trixie--because she recognizes that dress. How could she not? She’d had plenty of time to scrutinize it yesterday in the wardrobe trailer while Margo pinned up the hem. 

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, Trixie thinks dazedly, that’s making her feel as if she’d stepped into a parallel universe. Because when Emily reaches the altar where Pete and their attendants are waiting, there’s Parminter standing there, wearing a black suit with a clerical collar. Wait, what?

She can’t let this go on, this is crazy--

As Trixie starts to rise, she’s pushed firmly back down into her seat. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Madeline speaks in a low, intense voice. “Heaven so help me, Trixie Belden--if you cause a scene, I’m going to drag you out into the ocean and drown you myself.”

Parminter conducts the ceremony with just the right notes of solemnity and happiness. He duly pronounces Peter and Emily husband and wife, and they parade back down the aisle together.

Trixie flees.

She has no desire whatsoever to attend the cocktail hour with refreshments, although by now she’s starving. Wondering if there’s any chance the coffee tent is still operating, Trixie heads that way. Nope. Apparently they were only there to get everybody motivated for early filming.

On a whim, she makes her way to the wardrobe trailer, where she finds Margo, sitting and stitching something by hand. “Hey, kiddo!” the wardrobe mistress greets her. “Nice dress! Were you at that wedding?”

“That’s right. And so was Angie’s dress!”

Margo chuckles. “That’s the thing about wedding dresses--we can’t use them twice on the show. The fans notice things like that and it would make us look cheap. Can’t have that, not on _Fame and Fortune_!” She gives a snort of laughter. “It’s a write-off. So I let them have it--they didn’t want to put a lot of money into the wedding, but they wanted it to look like they did.”

So she’d in on it to. Trixie tries to think of a tactful way to ask about Pete and Angie, but she can’t find the words. “It’s a beautiful dress,” she says finally. “I ought to go--”

“Hey,” says Margo. “I know how you feel.”

“You do?”

“Sure, I was your age once--back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. You look around, you see your girlfriends getting married, you think, ‘Why isn’t it me?’ and you feel like nobody loves you. I’m telling you, don’t worry--you’re a sweet kid, someday it’ll be your time.”

This is so absolutely not what she was thinking that it stops Trixie in her tracks. “Um, thanks.”

“Go, have a good time at the wrap party--I mean, the reception!” Margo shakes her head at the mistake and returns to her project.

Well, she has to put in an appearance at the reception. Jupe will expect to see her and worry if he doesn’t. He cares about her, but although he’s affectionate, she’s not sure what his real feelings are. 

To her surprise, the cocktail hour is still going on. Kirby smiles at the sight of her, but Jupe appears at her side almost immediately and gives her a possessive peck on the cheek. “I want you to meet Pete,” he murmurs, guiding her to the table where the bride and groom are holding court. “He’s my oldest friend, and I wish him all the best.”

“We’ve met,” Trixie says dryly. At Pete’s surprised look, she adds, “Yesterday. In the wardrobe trailer.”

“Oh, okay,” he responds, looking none the wiser. “I didn’t recognize you in that dress.”

“That’s a lovely dress,” Emily interjects. She’s beaming. “Those little dragonflies in your hair are amazing.”

“Thank you. I love your dress.” Which is true. It doesn’t fit Emily as well as it did Angie, but it’s still beautiful. Making small talk is all Trixie can do at this point, isn’t it?

Throughout dinner--she doesn’t know anyone she’s seated with--Trixie mulls over the day’s events. She doesn’t know what to make of it all. Does Emily know about Angie? She and Pete are married--aren’t they? Trixie knows it’s possible to be ordained online and be able to perform weddings. Is it possible Parminter has done that? More importantly, how is Madeline involved in the cover-up? What is Trixie missing?

Trixie finds it difficult to be festive. The cake is cut--from a sheet cake; apparently the three-tiered monstrosity is for decorative purposes only. It’s underwhelming--Trixie knows she could bake a better cake! Pushing it away after a couple bites, she decides to go up to the room; she’s too tired to fake pleasantry any longer. At the same time, Emily’s great-grandmother is wheeled to the elevator. Madeline darts in at the last minute, one eye on Trixie, the other on the bride’s relation.

“That was such a lovely wedding!” exclaims the older woman. “What a beautiful job you did, Miss Wheeler.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McLaughlin,” Madeline says easily. “Emily is such a sweet girl, I wanted to make the day as special for her as I could.” She’s eyeing Trixie, daring her to contradict her. 

“The dress was beautiful, wasn’t it? I couldn’t make out all the details, but I could see how it sparkled in the sunlight.” Perhaps she’s a bit hard of hearing, too--her voice had that slightly too loud and a bit flat tone to it.

Trixie gets out at her floor, not wanting to be drawn into more conflict with her prickly former friend. Honey has new friends to go with her new name. Jim was right, all those months ago--the Bob-Whites have well and truly disbanded, if the girl who was like a sister to her is vehemently pushing her away.

Remembering it was one of the things she’d looked forward to, Trixie sits out on the balcony for a little while. The sound of the surf is soothing.

The next thing she knows, Jupe is saying, “ _There you are!_ ”.

She blinks. “What time is it?” 

“Ten thirty-five.” He yawns. “I only got about three hours sleep last night--I’m ready for some serious sack time.”

The yawn is contagious. “Sounds good to me.”

Her dreams are troubled, a jumble of disasters she’s powerless to prevent. The trees in the grove are blighted, angry beings like in ‘The Wizard of Oz’. The First Hudson Bank is robbed; her dad is shot and held hostage. She’s in the Manor House and overhears the Wheelers hatching a plot to make someone disappear. Then Mart and Ben go missing while hang-gliding, but Jupe is off with Pete, who’s got yet another girlfriend. “Don’t be angry,” Jupe says when she catches up to him. “I have everything under control.”

“What’s the plan?” she wants to know. Then she’s awake--very awake, because she’s spooned back against Jupe, a brawny arm slung around her waist…and while his deep, regular breathing suggests he’s asleep, something pressing against her back is definitely wide awake!

A shiver runs the length of her spine. 

It isn’t that she’s never been curious. It’s not that she hasn’t pursued that curiosity. (Not her finest hour.) And it certainly isn’t that she hasn’t been fascinated by Jupiter Jones since the day she first met him. But in addition to being kind and sensible and having a wicked sense of humor, Jupe is almost terrifyingly smart; to Trixie, insecure about own intellect, that’s as intimidating as it gets. 

_He’s probably dreaming,_ she thinks desperately. _Probably nothing to do with me!_ Still, it’s exciting, that heat stirring against her…cautiously, Trixie presses closer, shifting her weight subtly, her heart racing. Ever so carefully, she works her hand beneath his wrist and guides his hand to the curve of her breast. She’s breathless with a heady mixture of naughtiness and desire. He’s so big and strong, he makes her feel even more petite than she already is…what would it be like--

The slow rhythm of his breathing stops--he’s holding his breath. 

Then he tries to pull his hand away, but she doesn’t let go. “I’m awake,” she says as normally as she can. She hitches around until she can see his face in the faint light of the room. “Trixie, I--” he starts to say. Then she kisses him. It isn’t planned--she senses that he’s about to turn her down, and this is the only way she can think of to convince him otherwise.

It seems to be working. Not only does he kiss her back, but his other hand finds her other breast, and that raises the wow factor exponentially. Trixie rubs herself against him, glad she’s started wearing nightgowns instead of pajamas. She’s never felt so aroused in her life, and he’s so close--if she can just--

“No!” Jupe gasps unexpectedly, rolling away from her. He rolls off the edge of the bed in the process, bouncing to his feet. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I won’t--” He vanishes into the bathroom, and the shower starts running, followed so quickly by a faint yelp that he can’t have had time to undress first.

_Not again,_ Trixie thinks in misery. Quickly, she clambers out of bed and gets dressed in the shirt and capris she had set out for today. The water is still running as she slips quietly out of the room.

A walk along the beach at dawn would be lovely--if she had someone to share it with. Breakfast, then. She’s in the mood to sink her teeth into something!

Several members of the cast and crew are still there, including one she particularly wants to talk to--Parminter. She maneuvers behind him in the buffet line. “I didn’t know you were a member of the clergy, too,” she says in a teasing tone. “Or were you playing the part of a man of the cloth?”

“Good morning, Trixie!” He greets her with a good-natured smile. “That was a little favor to the groom. Personally, I’m an agnostic. That’s why they call it acting!” He hams it up on the last sentence.

Trixie blinks, trying to assemble her thoughts. Why would _Pete_ want to stage a phony wedding? If Angie is his girlfriend, why is he going to such lengths to pretend to marry Emily? Presumably Emily has money, but if that’s the case, why not marry her for real? But if that’s the case, why resort to wearing a second-hand dress and doing everything on the cheap?

After breakfast, she’s hovering indecisively in a corner of the lobby when Pete and Emily escort Mrs. McLaughlin toward the front door, followed at a discreet distance by the maid of honor pushing a luggage cart.

Mrs. McLaughlin’s attendant leaves them briefly at the curb while she goes to collect the minivan labeled Golden State Medical Transport. “I hope you have a wonderful honeymoon,” the older woman says to Emily. “Send me postcards, darling, if you have time--don’t worry yourself about me. I’m so happy you’ve found someone--Peter, dear boy, please take care of my little girl. It’s such a relief to know she won’t be all alone--”

There’s a flurry of hugs and kisses. Mrs. McLaughlin is loaded into the van, which pulls slowly out of the rotunda in front of the hotel. It glides down the immaculately landscaped driveway and out of sight.

Pete pats Emily on the back and says, “Take care of yourself, Em.”

“You, too,” she answers as he grabs the two suitcases remaining on the baggage cart and strolls across the parking lot. “Oh god, Paula,” Emily gulps to her maid of honor, who’s beside her now. “I’m never going to see her again, am I? She doesn’t have long, and she thinks I’m going to be on my _honeymoon!_ ”

Emily is clinging to the other girl, who’s holding her and rocking her comfortingly. “You don’t know that, lovey,” Paula consoles her. “She’s a tough old girl, she could outlive us both.”

The penny doesn’t just drop--there’s a cascade of coins like a slot machine paying off. Trixie turns and walks back into the lobby, adding it all up. Looking around, she spots Madeline seated with her ever-present clipboard, making notes.

Trixie walks briskly over to her. “It was all a sham for her grandmother’s benefit,” she says conversationally. “She doesn’t have much longer to live, and Emily wanted her to believe that she was happy and married. Pete's dad is filming in Europe--he can supply suitable postcards for them. I’m guessing that the old lady would’ve been upset if she knew the truth, that Emily is really involved with Paula.”

Madeline barely looks up. “I didn’t know you were homophobic,” she comments.

“I am not!” She’s indignant. “My own brother is gay and his boyfriend is a sweetheart!”

That gets Madeline’s attention. Brian, gay? I don’t believe it for a minute!”

“No, Mart.”

“Oh, Mart. _Oh._ ” The second ‘oh’ is uttered in a tone that suggests she’s having a penny-dropping moment of her own.

Trixie wonders what that's about, but she's not being deterred. “I thought you were trying to keep me away from Emily, but no--Emily was right there with her 'Nana' most of the time, and that’s who you were worried about catching on. How am I doing?”

Madeline shakes her head. Today she’s wearing a slate-blue pants suit that looks as perfectly tailored as everything else she’s worn this weekend, but, like everything else she’s worn this weekend, it’s a little too-too. It might be perfect for the East Coast, but it’s a bit overdone for California. “I knew it. I knew you were going to be trouble the minute I saw your name on the guest list.”

“Excuse me?” Trixie stares at her.

“We should have hired a best man, the same way we hired most of the wedding extras, but no, Pete wanted to see his old buddy. He sent out the invitations for Jupiter Jones, plus one, and that cousin of his--and who shows up? You! The one person on the planet guaranteed to stick her nose in where it doesn’t belong!”

“You could’ve just told me!” Trixie retorts.

“No, I couldn’t. Because Emily asked me not to tell anyone who didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to know!” Madeline is irritated; she drops her clipboard onto the little table nearby with a clatter. “Why can’t you learn to leave things alone?”

“I saw Pete and his real girlfriend together before I found out he was the groom,” Trixie explains. “If you were getting married, wouldn’t you want to know if your groom had another girlfriend on the side? I didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, because I thought Pete was marrying her for her money and didn’t care about her.”

“So you solved the mystery! Goody for you! Grow up, Trixie--we’re not in junior high anymore!”

“I know that,” Trixie replies, hanging on to her dignity with everything she has. “I just miss the way things used to be--the Bob-Whites, and _us_ \--we had plans, and then you changed--”

“What, the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency? That was a childish game, but it almost got us hurt for real. Sure, I changed--it stopped being fun when I spent a night tied up, thinking I was going to die! My mother was horribly upset after that whole fiasco; she decided I shouldn’t see so much of you and she always wanted to take me to see Paris. I love Paris.” She sighs at the memory. “But you? How are you ever going to see Paris, unless somebody pays your way? Or was that your plan when you threw yourself at Jim?”

Trixie gasps. If Madeline had slapped her, she wouldn’t be any more stunned or hurt. “He told you?” she falters.

“He was shocked.” Madeline sounds prim.

There are so many words lodged just behind her tongue that she can’t utter any of them. She doesn’t want to cry in front of this frosty stranger with a familiar face. Right now, she’s more angry than hurt, but _she_ won’t understand that….

“Good morning, ladies.” Jupiter joins them, shaved, neatly dressed, as enigmatic as ever. “Trixie, there’s a luggage cart in our room--”

“I need to finish packing,” she says, not looking at either of them. “Excuse me.”

Hot tears spill down Trixie’s face as she gets into the elevator. Honey, the girl who used to be her best friend, was the sweetest person in the world. How has she become this, this Madeline? The hurtful things she’d said--that’s totally unlike her former friend. Of course, that night they’d spent tied up on the derelict boat sure they were going to be murdered in the morning was scary. Trixie still has nightmares about it--but is that any reason to become a mean girl?

Most of her packing is already done; Trixie splashes water on her face and brushes her teeth. She hastily puts her hair up and grabs her toiletries out of the bathroom.

She could call the front desk to come get the baggage cart, or she could text Jupiter--but why bother? The rack steers like a truck, and the whole thing probably weighs nearly as much as she does, but it gives her something harmless to take her anger out on.

When she appears in the lobby, Jupiter makes a last comment to Madeline and hurries over to assist her. “You know I would’ve been happy to help you with that,” he chides her. 

She nods. “I didn’t mind.”

He drives, ostensibly so she can enjoy the view, but once they’re out of town, he pulls over into one of the scenic overlooks that are scattered along the route. “Trixie, I’m sorry, I really am. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This morning, I was--I didn’t--” Jupiter’s never been at a loss for words since she’s known him, which is…about eight months now. “I didn’t expect us to be sharing a room, let alone a bed…I didn’t bring any protection.” He hasn’t been able to meet her eyes, but now he does, and he looks vulnerable in a way she never expected. “I never thought I’d need it.”

“But you wanted to?”

“Let’s just say that was _not_ a flashlight in my pocket.” He gives a shaky chuckle. “I still want to, if you’ll give me another chance. I just didn’t want to risk taking away your future if you were ovulating.”

Leave it to Jupe to make sex sound like a science lesson! Trixie feels a knot of tension dissolve. “If I’d known you wanted a chance, I would’ve given you one way before this,” she confides. “You’re not an easy guy to read, you know--or maybe it’s my dyslexia again….”

Kissing Jupiter--really kissing him--it feels delightful, knowing that soon, when they’re ready, there’s going to be more. 

“So what were you upset about?” he wants to know when they’ve come up for air. Jupe is just as stubborn as she is when it comes to getting answers, Trixie reflects. And she doesn’t have to keep it a secret, because she hasn’t promised anything to anyone.

“For one thing…this may come as a shock…your friend Pete isn’t really married.” She waits for his reaction, which isn’t what she expects.

He laughs. “I know. I figured out something was rotten in Denmark at that so-called rehearsal dinner, when his dearly beloved said to me that Pete often talked about me and his childhood growing up in Long Beach.”

“What?!” Trixie is startled. “That’s nowhere near Rocky Beach! It’s a completely different city!”

“Exactly. So after the movie that night, I took Pete out for pancakes and pumped him for the truth.”

“That it was all a ruse to make Emily’s grandmother happy.”

Jupe nods. “They got acquainted while he was filming at the same resort in the Hamptons where Emily spent her spring break. She just graduated, and Mrs. McLaughlin couldn’t make it to the ceremony--she lives at an assisted living facility near San Diego, and Emily hadn’t seen her since last Christmas. That’s when Emily found out her condition has been deteriorating.”

“So they put their heads together and staged a wedding.” That fills in a little more of the puzzle. “What does Pete get out of it?”

“Emily has her own money, it’s not all expectations. She’s repaying Pete by paying his union dues so he can work on better quality projects. And Madeline--” Jupe smiles. “instead of a fee, she had Emily make a donation to the Heart and Lung Association. Wha--why are you crying?”

Trixie pulls herself together with an effort. That is such a _Honey_ thing to do!

“Madeline is Honey Wheeler,” she says, trying to keep her voice level.

“Your pal with the horses? The one you solved mysteries with?” 

Trixie laughs bitterly. “Except now, she acts like none of that meant anything! She told me off for having an overactive imagination and sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong. She said, it’s not like we’re in junior high anymore.”

“Pete said something similar,” Jupe sighs. “I was saying how funny it was that he’s a stuntman now because he always used to be so cautious, and he said that after all the hare-brained predicaments we used to get into when we were kids, that being a stuntman actually felt safer, because they were professionals on set and every care was taken to make things as safe as possible.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. “I feel like I’m in the same place I was ten years ago,” Jupiter remarks, “only now I have a driver’s license and more responsibility…being a grown-up isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be!”

“I went to college because my dad insisted. I studied film because it was the only thing in the catalog I was interested in.” She sighs gustily. “The only thing I ever wanted to do was be a detective! I loved solving things!”

Jupe gasps. “That’s it! Trixie, you’re a genius!” He’s kissing her again, hummingbird pecks on her chin, cheeks, nose….

“What are you talking about!”

“Solving things! What do people solve? Problems!”

“I hate math.”

“No, I mean problems like people have, the kind of people we see every day at the salvage yard! Think about it, we get people coming in looking for things, but a lot of times it’s because they need it to solve a problem. Like that woman who was looking for a lawn mower last week--”

“Because code enforcement was on her case,” Trixie recalls. “You mowed it for her, so she’d have the money for her bills, instead. I get it…if we pay attention to our customers, I’ll bet we can find all kinds of problems that need to be solved!”

Jupiter nods. “We’ve been defining ourselves with a too-limited focus. ‘Solving things’ doesn’t have to mean solving just mysteries or crimes! I mean, yes, we _did_ help with the matter of Tyrone Lowell, but only in the sense that we had enough sense to turn the evidence we found over to the FBI. Sometimes cases really do need to be left to the professionals.”

“So what are we going to call ourselves if we aren’t investigators?” Trixie asks eagerly. “Partners in crime? No, not for this. Helping hands? No, that sounds like we do odd jobs--although, that’s kind of what it is. What about--”

Her enthusiastic ideas are cut short by a tender kiss. “Together,” Jupe suggests. “Whatever it is.”

…


	2. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey Wheeler is _not_ a mean girl--but she was certainly giving a good impersonation of one the last time Trixie saw her. What was up with that?

Trixie recognizes the Westchester area code as soon as her phone lights up, but the number is unfamiliar. If it isn’t home, then it must be an emergency, something happened to Moms or Pops or Bobby! She licks her index finger to remove any orange pulp and swipes to answer. “Hello?!”

“Trixie? Please don’t hang up!”

She certainly wasn’t expecting to hear from Honey Wheeler, not after their unexpected reunion and clash over the weekend in Santa Barbara. She’ll listen, but she has other things she can be doing. Trixie presses the ‘speaker’ button and sets the phone back down on the counter, resuming marmalade prep. Then she says, “Good morning, Madeline.”

“Oh, Trixie--I’m sorry. I really am.” Her friend’s voice is distressed. “I know I was an awful bitch last weekend. I spent two weeks cramming for finals--I had four papers due! and practically the minute I was done, I flew out to Santa Barbara and the time difference just about killed me. Can you ever forgive me?”

It’s on the tip of Trixie’s tongue to say that if that’s what college has done to her friend, she’s glad she dropped out, but that isn’t true. This sounds more like the Honey she used to know, 

She sighs. “That depends. How much of what you said did you actually mean?”

“Umm…I don’t know.”

Trixie stares over at the phone. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“The whole weekend is a blur,” Honey says in a small voice. “I was sleep-deprived from finals, and then I was running around like a crazy woman trying to make everything seem normal--”

“And did you remember to eat anything?” Trixie demands, because she knows how Honey gets when she’s busy with a project.

“I think I taste-tested the rehearsal dinner,” she admits. “But part of the trouble was, I didn’t really have time to adjust my clock…by the time I tied up all the loose ends after the rehearsal dinner and talked to Emily about how it went and everything, it was past midnight there--which is 3 a.m. on the East Coast. And then I had to pop out of bed on three hours sleep and do stuff about the ceremony and reception.”

“It was beautiful, even if it was…what would you call it, tres faux?” Trixie’s compliment is sincere, but the snippet of French reminds Trixie of how her friend had sighed about loving Paris and the rest of it…. “You really don’t remember what you said?”

“Did I really threaten to drown you if you interrupted the wedding?”

“You did, but that wasn’t the worst of it, not by half.” Trixie takes her indignation out on the oranges destined for the next batch of marmalade. “You flat-out accused me of being a gold-digger. That I threw myself at Jim for his money. Is that really what you think of me?”

There’s a gasp, and the unmistakable sound of sobbing. “Oh no!”

Trixie doesn’t interrupt or offer comfort. She’d been smarting from her old friend’s rejection even before their run-in at Emily and Pete’s wedding. Honey’s cruel words had shocked her deeply on several levels.

“It’s my fault, I took a sleeping pill after the reception…I don’t usually do that, I don’t like them. Did I really say that?” She sounds horrified, which is slight consolation.

“You said it, so you must have thought it, at some point. Or is that what Jim told you?”

“He said…” She hesitates. “After our graduation, he said you…um, approached him. That you wanted him to be your first….” Memory of that mortifying rejection still has the power to make Trixie’s face scarlet with humiliation. “And he, well, it kind of freaked him out. He said he loves you like a sister and the idea of sleeping with you threw him for a loop.”

“So where did you get the idea that I was trying to pick his pocket?” Trixie demands. “You basically said I was so poor that I’d sponge off him just to get a trip to Paris! Thanks a lot!”

“I never thought that, and neither did Jim,” Honey says quietly, “but my mother…at one point, I asked her if I could bring you along to Paris and she gave me a little talk about how it was awful of me to give you a taste of the kind of lifestyle you’d never be able to afford, and what did I think I was going to do, spend the rest of my life paying your way on trips and giving you clothes and everything?” 

“I always thought your mother liked me.” Trixie is disillusioned. Maybe her dream about the Wheelers cabal had been truer than she’d thought! “So you figured I was trying to marry my way onto the gravy train? I don’t give a hoot about Paris!”

“Honestly, Trixie, I don’t know what I was thinking. I remember taking that damn pill and getting into bed. I think I remember talking to Emily and Mrs. McLaughlin at breakfast. The next thing I knew, I was waking up at the airport, sitting at the wrong gate and having to haul my carry-ons halfway across the concourse just barely in time to make my flight!” She sounds like she’s about to start crying again. “It was awful!”

Trixie has been known to lose her temper and say things she didn’t mean. She knows that sometimes things come out the wrong way. Honey, the real Honey, is _not_ a mean girl.

“That does sound scary,” she agrees. “Maybe you shouldn’t take those pills anymore.”

“They were Emily’s. She gave me a couple because she said I looked like I needed them worse than she did. I only took one--I ended up flushing the rest at the airport when I came out of it.” She sounds contrite. 

Trixie pictures her sitting at her dressing table in her dainty blue-and-ivory bedroom at the Manor House. They had so many good times there, she thinks wistfully. Sleepovers and house-parties, cookouts, hours spent riding…but Honey was right: They aren’t kids anymore. 

“Are we still friends? I’m so sorry I said all those things,” Honey’s voice is contrite. “I should have told you the truth. I know you can keep secrets.”

“Well, you did promise Emily,” Trixie points out. “And she doesn’t know me from Adam. But it’s okay. Apology accented. Let’s change the subject!”

“Thanks, Trixie. You really are my best friend, even if we are kind of going in different directions right now.”

It stings to think about that, but it’s true. Trixie shakes her head and pursues a comment Honey had made during their confrontation in the lobby. “I’ve got a question--I told you Mart’s gay, and you just said ‘oh’, like all of a sudden, something made sense to you. Want to tell me what that was about?”

“I was out riding one time…I’m not really comfortable talking about it. Maybe you should ask your brother.”

“You caught him fooling around? With another guy?”

“Umm….” Honey is about to be evasive, but Trixie is having none of it.

“Who was he?”

“If it was the other way around, you wouldn’t want me telling on you, would you?” Honey deftly changes the subject. “One thing I do seem to remember about last weekend--your hair looked really cute. Have you been growing it out?”

Trixie hesitates, but figures she’s likely to get better results asking Mart about his mystery man. “Thank you. Yes, I’ve got the most fabulous stylist--she insisted that it would be less trouble to grow it out, if I’d use the right product--and you know? She was right!”

“I remember how much you used to struggle with it,” her friend sympathizes.

“Moms always gave us haircuts in the kitchen,” Trixie shudders. “until Mart gave himself his first crew cut. After that, Dad took him and Brian along to the village barber, so I was the only Belden hairdressing victim.”

“I’m happy to see you’ve grown out of that phase!” Honey laughs, and Trixie joins in.

“Me, too,” she agrees. “And California seems to agree with me--I love the climate! And the sunsets! Watching the sun set into the ocean is amazing!”

“How often do you get to do that?” Honey is curious. “I thought Mart’s farm was way inland.”

“It is, but I work at the salvage yard four or five days a week, and that’s only about a block and a half from the boardwalk. Lots of times I’ll get off work, leave my car in the lot and walk down to the beach.” She doesn’t mention that on most of those occasions, she’s accompanied by Jupe, who holds her hand and offers tidbits of trivia about marine life and local color.

“Oh, right. Pete and Jupiter were talking about the salvage yard at the rehearsal dinner…he seems nice.”

“He is.” Trixie is noncommittal. “When I first got here, I was looking for Mart--my folks couldn’t get ahold of him, so they sent me to find him. I finally tracked him down, but I couldn’t have done it without Jupe.”

“Uh-huh. I was talking to Pete…it sounds to me like you and Jupiter are a pretty good match.”

“There’s a lid for every pot, as Moms used to say.” Trixie hears the instant replay of that in her head, and face-palms at how suggestive it sounds.

“Apparently, he’s just as obsessed with so-called ‘mysteries’ as you are.”

Trixie thinks of the discussion they’d had on the way home about solving problems, not just mysteries. Jupiter really hit the nail on the head. “He’s the smartest guy I’ve ever met,” she says firmly. “But he isn’t a know-it-all--” Like Jim, she thinks. “--and I enjoy spending time with him. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I’m really glad you’ve got somebody who’s on your wavelength.” Honey is earnest. “You deserve somebody as wonderful as you are.”

“Oh golly, I’m blushing. It’s good to talk to you, Honey. It’s been ages.”

“I’m sorry about that, I really am. Now that I have your phone number, we’ll have to chat more often. Or at least text.”

“I’d rather talk,” Trixie says, and takes a deep breath. “Texting is kind of difficult for me. I was diagnosed with dyslexia--that’s one of the reasons I dropped out of college.”

Honey is dismayed. “I didn’t know! Oh, Trixie, I’m so sorry!”

“How could you know? At least that helped Bobby get a diagnosis and academic assistance. And it certainly explains why school was such a nightmare for me! Remember how much I used to struggle every time they wanted us to write a theme? I had plenty of ideas, but getting them onto the page made me crazy. And math--even when I understood the concept of algebra, I kept transposing numbers and writing down the wrong answers. Ugh!”

“You were always smart!” her friend defends her. “Just real-life smart, not the kind they test. And don’t worry, I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Honey. It’s been good talking to you.”

…


End file.
